


Ebb and Flow

by HostisHumaniGeneris



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Clone Sex, Double Penetration, F/F, Gangbang, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shapeshifting, Slime Girl, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 08:13:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21472843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HostisHumaniGeneris/pseuds/HostisHumaniGeneris
Summary: Trapped aboard a sinking ship, Ada is confronted by the rampantly mutating and insane Carla Radames. She finds herself at her doppelgangers mercy, only to find to her chagrin that Carla has some inexplicable ideas on how to prove who therealAda Wong is.
Relationships: Carla Radames/Ada Wong
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28
Collections: Naughty List 2019





	Ebb and Flow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silex/gifts).

This was hardly the first time she had to get off a sinking ship.

Still, some things didn’t get any less dangerous with experience. There might be some leftover B.O.W.s aboard, but more importantly was the increasingly-present grey sludge, bubbling in from vents, breaking through bulkheads.

She ran a little faster.

The key to surviving these situations was mostly instinct—there wasn’t time to think in cases like this, just act and react as best you could. The thinking, the planning, the calculating, that was all stuff you needed to have done before you meet the field. No plan survived contact with the enemy. Not necessarily true, plenty of routine business ended without a hitch. But in cases like this? Definitely accurate, but if you planned ahead correctly, when it fell apart it would leave you enough room to improvise.

She’d been improvising a lot more than she would’ve necessarily liked. The particulars of this assignment had been making her misjudge things; she showed her hand to Leon too soon, gotten involved in saving Birkin’s daughter, let Simmons’ obsessions work her into confused reaction. And then she had to see Carla when the woman was a corpse—in her line of business a corpse was at best, a corpse. If not, then things were going to get interesting. Case in point, the gray sludge eating the boat she was on.

Here she was, overthinking things, when the right plan was to just fucking run.

Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference. After all when the deck gave way and she slid down the slated floor into what she judged to a large storage room, it wasn’t musing about Leon that meant she wasn’t faster than the ship being destroyed.

She slid came to a rolling stop against a canister. She immediately went to pick herself up, instinct, and failed to double check where she was placing her hands. Her right pressed against something thick and slippery and gray that very quickly became tacky and _pulled._ She did have presence of mind to reach with the left, using it to try and help pull her right out of its glove. That’s when the canister flipped over, end on end, and the liquid’s surface bubbled and pillars of the liquid launched themselves at her.

Each branched out, five stubby little pillars. The liquid was forming arms, which turned to hands which turned to fingers. One grabbed her left wrist; she jerked back violently before the fingers could close all the way, splashing the liquid aware as she tore her hand free. Others grabbed at her throat, gripped her trapped wright arm, pulled her further down.

She wrestled with a dozen limbs, which dragged her down, further into the liquid. They grabbed her legs, pulled her down, yanked her hair. She swore as her right arm was pinned behind her back. An arm looped around her neck and dragged, pulling her so the side of her face was pressed against the liquid. She expected it to burn or sting or something, but it was just warm. She was left, wriggling like a fly on paper, until it happened.

The liquid bubbled again, maybe five feet from Ada Wong, and she appeared. It didn’t emerge from the liquid, it was the liquid itself. Half of a slate-gray sphere popped up, taking on a more definite shape excess liquid flowed off it. Two eyes, red-on-gray opened as the head continued to rise. Due to its liquid nature it warped and flowed in front of her eyes, but she recognized the face.

It was her own, after all.

“You!” Her own voice screamed at her, before being wracked by a wet cough. A tiny arm grew, and pressed against the muck, pulling more of the body out of the sludge. “You thought you could get away?!”

Well yes, that was the point.

More heads were bubbling from the sludge while the first one continued to rave. “You’re not Ada Wong! She would’ve gotten away! You’re not real!”

Again, Ada cursed herself for getting close to Carla’s corpse. She had the information she wanted, and it was hardly her first dead body—was the fact she saw _herself _die that disturbing to her? She was softer than she thought.

She tried to scan the room just seeing an expanse of gray, forming and unforming. The first of Carla’s copies was almost fully formed, a grotesque nude parody of herself, melting and reforming, the face only really matching hers in split seconds it wasn’t deforming. “Right, you’re the real Ada Wong.”

She could tell, insane as Carla was, she still got the sarcasm when her clone reached down, grabbed her hair and pulled. The limbs holding her gave way—this was a chance. She’d lost her gun in the fall, but if she could just get out of this.

The Carla’s arm deformed when he hit it, the wrist and hand losing form when she struck, freeing her. Ada backed away, off of the sludge, as Carla screamed and rushed. Kick to the knee unbalanced her, and she splattered onto the floor, only to begin sucking up what had been splashed away on impact.

The fight was brief as the other doppelgangers rushed and arms grasped and Ada punched and kicked and was taken back to the ground. Carlas melted together as they all fell. Arms looped around her, holding her in an ever-shifting full nelson. The Carla that face planted stood back up, teetering and dripping—or maybe it was some other one, it didn’t particularly matter.

Ada stopped struggling and went back to observing the room as Carla ranted from at least four places. She wasn’t paying much attention as the woman ranted about how she was going to prove she was the real Ada, mainly looking for some way of escape until the hands began grabbing her. They cupped her breasts and squeezed hard enough to make her wince, grabbed fistfuls of clothing. Buttons popped as a hand gripping the front of her shirt pulled. A compatriot grabbed the back of her collar and yanked, a tug of war which Ada’s shirt lost. She shuddered as hands of cold liquid ran along her body, slipping underneath her bra.

Hands slid down her belly while she was continually denounced as a fake, squeezing under her belt and panties; losing structure in the tight confines. More poured up the legs. Ada finally looked at the ranting Carla… Carlas, as they closed in, ranting about proving they were real. The one in the lead grabbed her hair _again, _and pulled her close, burying her face on something sticky and wet.

It was good she couldn’t talk against the sludge, because she had no clue how forcing her to service them would prove that they were the real Ada Wong. She complied however, licking something lukewarm, that tasted of polish. She could be proud of herself for refusing to give in against no choice, or she could play ball and try to figure out a way to turn this around--not a choice at all, really. There wasn’t any _anatomy_ , a crease in the liquid that quivered and pulsed against her tongue, smoothed into nothingness as she licked and then redefined itself.

Given how she was reacting, Carla was enjoying herself. Ada felt hands squeezing and massaging her breasts, a sheet of liquid caressing her ass, a stubborn, thin, fingers-breadth of it managing to worm its way under her panties and finding her slit. She just had to bear this—sex was a weapon. Instincts versus thought—instincts could win in a way that was predictable, plannable.

Then she was roughly shoved back to the deck, as the Carlas laughed. “Whore.”

She spotted spotted something matte black, clear from the liquid. Her gun. Near her was the canister—she just now realized it was marked _flammable_. Improvisation. “And I suppose the real Ada Wong’s only a whore for Simmons?”

Anger and sex made people not think straight. She’d hoped that Carla would lose self again, throw Ada around again, give her an opportunity to grab the gun. Instead, she laughed. “You want to know what Simmons likes?”

Something dripped down from between her doppelganger’s legs. Ada glared at the grey blob as it took on a more definite shape, then rose until it was parallel to the ground. The real Ada Wong _did not have a cock_. A quick scan showed the other Carlas were sporting, too. The seams of her pants split as the sludge tugged it apart from the inside out, leaving her naked save one glove, her boots, and her necklace.

And then they got to work.

She was pried open and fucked. The Carlas were frantic, inexpert, and their biology was wrong for this. A semi-solid cocks deformed against her, Carla panting and groaning as she lost shape. Both in her face and in her body and in her cock. Some dripped odwn on its own. What didn’t pulsed and moved inside in a way she’d never felt before. Eventually Carla pulled free with a dripping mess of sludge; half of which had turned into a complete liquid inside her victim.

The other Carla’s joined in. They jeered as they fucked Ada or forced her to suck a cock that lost shape and ran down her throat as she sucked. She was flipped over and sodomised—the tightness deforming her rapist to the point much of it just ran down her legs. Awkward tribadism led to something quivering and slithering. They fucked her and stroked her, and she sucked up cocks that just dissolved upon orgasm, or licked a cunt that deformed into nothingness. Sometimes an organ would abrubtly erupt into a different one in her mouth or against her body. Carlas melted together when they touched one another while double- or triple-penetrating her as best they could. Sheer effort made up for lack of technique or organs and digits that couldn't maintain shape, the constant attention on her body, sliding and flowing inside her and down her spine and across her breasts and against her clit, eventually drove her to squeal and shake in an imitation of the noises the Carlas made..

All the while she kept an eye on the gun.

“Good little whore.” Carla said as she stroked a length that dripped between her fingers. Another was lining up, cock bubbling then deforming into a vagina, then back to a cock. She wasn’t sure if as she serviced one, they simply lined up again, or if they dissolved back into the sludge and a new Carla took place.

They weren’t even holding her when she clenched her hand into a fist, the liquid and scrambled forward reaching for the gun. The Carlas turned and looked dumbounded as she rolled onto her back, taking aim. They were circling around the canister—one she’d been bent over a few moments ago, and when she pulled the trigger, they _splattered._

She scavenged what she could, collecting her phone and fashioning a makeshift skirt out of the remnants of her shirt. Somehow, a long, red scarf was clinging to a vent. Carlas. She wrapped it around chest. It was ridiculous, but after everything, she was not going to go after Simmons naked. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'll admit, I'm shocked that there doesn't appear to be too many lesbian clonesex gangbang with an army of slimegirl doppelgangers stories in this fandom, because I'm certain that all of the Ada plotline in RE6 was someone's fetish.


End file.
